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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=91TT2408>
<title>
Oct. 28, 1991: The Art Of Memory
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
Oct. 28, 1991 Ollie North:"Reagan Knew Everything"
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 95
The Art Of Memory
</hdr><body>
<p>By Howard G. Chua-Eoan
</p>
<qt>
<l>WILD SWANS: THREE DAUGHTERS OF CHINA</l>
<l>By Jung Chang</l>
<l>Simon & Schuster; 524 pages; $25</l>
</qt>
<p> From generation to generation, families wander through
clouds of shared images, miasmas of memory, occlusions of oral
remembrances. What is recalled of clan history is imprecise,
simply because the stories take on shapes imposed by each
teller. Sometimes, however, a family will be lucky, and an aunt,
an uncle or a cousin will be able to re-create the past with a
precision that makes the narrative virtually incontestable, a
true copy of what has gone before. That is the nature of Jung
Chang's mesmerizing memoir. With a calm that suggests
infallibility, she tells the story of her mother and her
maternal grandmother and, by doing so, makes visible, intimate
and immediate the pain and horror that are cloaked in the
silence of China's recent history.
</p>
<p> For a people who pride themselves over three millenniums
of civilization, the Chinese have perfected the art of
forgetting. Mao Zedong once said he wanted the Chinese people
to be a blank sheet of paper on which he could write anything
he pleased. Throughout history, the Chinese have often obliged
their rulers by volunteering to be such tabulae rasae. "Yes,
that was a bad spell." "Yes, we suffered much." "No, let us not
talk about it." The responses are the same, whether the period
involved is the civil war between the Communists and the
Nationalists that embroiled the country in the '30s and '40s,
or the epic struggle against Japanese invaders, or the chaotic
Cultural Revolution. Notions of the past exist, but when tales
are told they are often without context. Exotic ancestresses
mince through the background on bound feet; pig-tailed
great-grandfathers take to ship for lands of greater promise.
What was it that they fled?
</p>
<p> Chang does not attempt complicated sociological
explanations. She simply tells stories and anecdotes, in
straight chronological order, with little contrivance, providing
real-life fables as open-ended answers to the puzzles of 20th
century China. All this takes the form of a spectacular
adventure traced from Chang's 19th century great-grandmother,
who was born and given no name, to her grandmother, who was
bartered into concubinage in exchange for a government position,
to her mother, who was too smart and too pragmatic to be
considered a good Communist by the party.
</p>
<p> Wild Swans is not entirely Chang's story, but she makes it
so. By beginning long before she was born, her voice becomes
that of her grandmother and mother, before finally becoming her
own. One can almost hear the older women whispering in her ear,
telling Chang exactly what their lives were like. And so the
narrative becomes that of one woman evolving through China's
tumultuous past century, surviving war, famine, the conscious
and unconscious cruelties of parents and the vicissitudes
brought on by uncontrollable political forces.
</p>
<p> While the women are impressive, one of the finest and most
tragic images in Chang's book is that of her father, a
self-sacrificing Communist official who denied his family party
privileges as his part in an attempt to establish egalitarianism
in the country. (At one point Chang's mother complained to him,
"You are a good Communist but a rotten husband!" Her father only
nodded, saying he knew.) He is swept away by the Cultural
Revolution. But not before one supreme act of courage. Asked to
praise so-called good officials by writing an adulatory wall
poster, Chang's father refused--even with the threat of
beatings from Maoist thugs. His wife pleaded, "What is a poster
compared to a life?" He answered, "I will not sell my soul."
</p>
<p> Taken in pieces, Chang's narrative can be prosaic. But in
its entirety, the author achieves a Dickensian tone with
detailed portraits and intimate remembrances, with colorful
minor characters and intricate yet fascinating side plots. There
is a Chinese art of forgetting. Wild Swans is proof that there
is an art of memory as well.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>